


santa claus won't make me happy

by leov66



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Past Relationship(s), THIS IS A STORY ABOUT CHANGING FOR THE BETTER THANX TO OTHER PEOPLE AND YOURSELF, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, fake dating for christmas, genre mix-up, highly implied alcohol abuse, is this a trope? it has to be, just kids and their trauma!, overall getting over bad experiences i guess, ronan and the fucked up relationship he has with his brothers, theres funny stuff and theres hurt and romance!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-09-28 03:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leov66/pseuds/leov66
Summary: Ever since the accident, Ronan's been escaping from his problems by any and all possible means. Not long before Christmas, Dick Gansey storms into his life, looking for a fake boyfriend and generally taking apart every wall Ronan has ever built around himself. As Gansey's plot begins to take off, Ronan is forced to reconsider most of his life and relationships.alternative titles:1)won't santa bring him the one he really wants2)merry christmas we're all sad





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be a rom com. a short funny trc story with some christmas elements mixed in. you are all in for a ride and there is No getting out. don't be fooled this will be a christmas story but by the time it's finished it will most likely be easter or summer or christmas 2019.

The sudden interruption of Ronan’s precious alone time (which, incidentally, is how he always prefers it) comes out of a clear sky in the form of one Richard Gansey blocking his way out of the last class of his day. Most of the lecture went by without Ronan’s notice, his mind buzzing frantically, only functioning in hope for the remains of last night’s vodka waiting for him in a water bottle. Ronan knows his day-to-day schedule by heart, knows exactly how much time he needs to get to the bus stop, and Lord knows he won’t stoop so low as to run for the bus. He almost lets himself slip into his thoughts again, but a hand on his shoulder snaps him out of- everything, actually. He’s so surprised that he almost lets it show. How off-brand for him.

 

“I need your help,” Dick Gansey says like it’s something anyone could say to him. Like they have spoken to each other at some point of this class that they’ve had together for two years. (Ronan hates the month of November for numerous reasons, but this might just become another one.) There’s a nervous edge to his voice and most of his fingernails are completely bitten off, and the deadlines haven’t even started rolling in yet. Or maybe it’s just how Ronan works on people, he wouldn’t be surprised at that. He wouldn’t really care, either. “I need your help, Ronan,” Gansey says again, as if Ronan hasn’t heard him. _He needs a drink_ . He stares Gansey in the eyes, partly to scare him away (it works on most people) and partly to see what the _fuck_ has gotten into him to speak to Ronan.

 

Ronan knows perfectly well what Adam would say. _Don’t we all?_ , and he’d laugh. Okay, he wouldn’t laugh, but there would be something in his eyes, sad as it always is but also sort of amused at his own joke. Maybe he should call Adam tonight. “That’s too bad,” he finally replies with a shrug.

 

“I’m desperate.” Gansey straightens up, suddenly not so nervy. Rich boys don’t like not hearing _yes_. That’s too fucking bad. “Look, you must be in a rush, but it won’t take long-”

 

That’s too much for Ronan. He’s edgy now, with all the sounds from the back of the class buzzing in his head. He can almost _feel_ the vodka going down his throat. He needs it like air. “I’m not signing any goddamn petition if that’s what you want from me.”

 

Gansey falters for a split second, confused as a child. “What? No, I don’t- I’m not a- _no_ , Ronan, this isn’t about a petition. I need you to- I need you to pretend to be my- my boyfriend. For Christmas. Please.”

 

Ronan’s _definitely_ not drunk enough for this. Without sparing a second glance at Gansey, he opens his bag and takes out the coveted bottle, which is also one of the only two things he’s currently carrying with him. Two solid gulps later he’s ready to process what he’s just heard. Pretending to be Richard Gansey the Third’s boyfriend for Christmas, just what he intended to do anyway, right after unpacking presents with his family and before afternoon tea with the Queen. “You got the wrong address.”

 

Gansey wrinkles his nose at the smell of vodka. His world must be collapsing right in front of his eyes. _Good_ . A little anarchy never hurt nobody. “Look, I know we haven’t spoken and this must be so surprising to you, but- I _need_ your help. It _needs_ to be you.” Ronan doesn’t say a word, instead choosing to stare at Gansey and convey his thoughts in a very primal way. He hopes his glare gets across _fuck off_ well enough. Gansey runs his hand through his hair. A few years of that and he’ll be bald. “I’ll pay you, if that’s what might convince you.”

 

Is Ronan some paid hooker? Is he in debt? Does he genuinely want Dick Gansey, and people in general, to pay him for wasting his time? Does he hate his job? The answer to some of these questions is yes.

 

“How much?”, he asks, suddenly not so disinterested. He takes another long sip of vodka, sad to see most of it gone now. Gansey doesn’t even blink. “However much you need.”

 

 _I know precisely how much I need, but I won’t be getting_ that _anytime soon_ , Ronan thinks. _Not until I pull through the other half of this fucking degree._

 

“You can’t afford me,” is all he settles for. Gansey smirks at that, in this rich boy way that means _I always get what I want_ . Before he can actually say it, Ronan skives off the conversation. He’s stayed behind long enough anyway. To make sure Gansey doesn’t follow him or whatever he’d do to get his way, on his way out he swipes his traditional _fuck off_ for “Find me next week and I’ll tell you.”

 

The rest of the day goes by pretty quickly between beer and leftovers from whatever shitty meal he managed to make last week. Ronan is tempted to call him now, to pick him up from whatever job he’s got and suck him off in the car. It’s not even the sensation that he craves, he just needs to think about nothing but the way Adam gasps his name when he comes. He remembers their first hookup, smiling into Adam’s mouth like his flimsy kisses were the funniest thing in the world, uncertain hands under his shirt and a bruise on his knee from kneeling for too damn long. It wasn’t really that different after a few months, except for maybe more comfortable conditions than at the beginning. With Adam, they both needed the touch and not the feelings. It was easier like this, Ronan’s good at shutting off anyway. Not thinking. Nothing more than taking another breath to steal another meaningless kiss.

 

He wonders if Adam hated him for it all sometimes. He should, but then again the hope he didn’t is all Ronan has.

 

He’s falling asleep from the food and the alcohol, slipping away dreamlessly, when his phone starts to ring. Ronan doesn’t even know why he turned it on, since most of the time he keeps it off for _that precise reason_. The ringtone is annoying, too loud and unasked for. Ronan looks at the screen. It’s Declan. Once again, annoying, too loud and unasked for.

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” he picks up, not even trying to hide the anger in his voice, “do you want from me?” He doesn’t have to be there to know what Declan’s doing. He’s probably in his room with the door shut and locked just in case Matthew tries to eavesdrop _and_ intervene. He’s after another bad day at work, tired and miserable (or maybe that’s just how he is as a person), waiting for time to pass. Matthew’s probably in the kitchen, trying to make dinner and force Declan to eat some of it and pack the rest in the countless Tupperwares they keep around. No matter what, Matthew’s cheerful, maybe because they couldn’t _all_ keep drowning in grief. Ronan gladly pulls that off for the three of them.

 

Declan sighs. He sounds more like an exasperated parent than an older brother. “You say that every time I call, you broken record.” If they weren’t all so fucked up, Ronan would’ve laughed at that, but he’s blissfully numb from the alcohol and doesn’t give a fuck right now. “You’ll drink yourself to death and it’s only seven.”

 

“Why do you care?” The thing is Ronan knows he’s too rude. Too cruel. There are too many spikes and rough edges for him to function in any other way. It’s also the easiest.

 

Declan knows all that, Ronan’s sure of it. He wishes his brother would never call. “Try as you might not to believe it, you’ve got a family, Ronan. We both care. Will you stay after church?” Ronan never stays after church. He’s got every Sunday planned out for the rest of his life; it’s the only day when he sets an alarm on the ancient alarm clock he probably got for his first communion. He wakes up, drinks the soluble hangover-fighting vitamins, shaves, puts on his best suit and goes to church. Every week without a doubt he wants to burn the suit, but he never does. It used to belong to Niall Lynch and that’s enough for Ronan to keep it. It’s one of the last things he’s still got from his father, because his brothers clearly don’t count.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of ruining your perfect dinner,” he replies without hesitance. It’s easier like this. He’s handling everything on his own like a big boy.

 

“I wanted to bring my girlfriend along. Wanted you to meet her.” Declan’s tone is quieter now, he’s more ready for a compromise. He must be really desperate. Maybe it’s serious. Declan’s only twenty-five, but then again he’s always been the most mature brother. Maybe the girl really means something to him.

 

Too bad Ronan isn’t having any of it. “You’d better tell her you’ve got one brother. Aren’t you afraid she’d run away after seeing me?”

 

“Look, I don’t know what me and Matt did to you. I don’t, okay? And I don’t know why you’re like this. I’m not asking for much, Ronan. You don’t even need to say anything, just come. Have dinner with us.”

 

It’s too much for Ronan. He hangs up, but his racing thoughts keep him up for most of the night anyway.

 

Thankfully one of the few skills he’s been blessed with is just turning off in class. It saved his sanity numerous times in high school, has been saving him in uni, and is currently holding him together with the minor aid of alcohol. He’s pushing through and that’s all that matters. Sleep deprivation stopped being a problem when Ronan just accepted that he’d always be tired, no matter what he did in the night. He slips into energy-saving mode, which consists of his body being wherever he needed to be and his mind either completely shutting off or roaming free. That’s the kind of state Dick Gansey finds him in.

 

“I know you said a week,” he begins and something in Ronan appreciates that all of Gansey’s three brain cells managed to remember what he’d said the day before, “but it must be fate that brought us here and now.” Ronan would say that it’s actually their timetables and the fatal drive to get a degree and not die broke and starving under a bridge, but he lets Gansey have his own ideas.

 

Upon meeting a brick wall, as in not even a muscle on Ronan’s face signalling that the message has gotten through, Gansey doesn’t walk away. In fact, he only gets closer to Ronan. “So tell me, Ronan, what’s your answer? Will you help me?”

 

Days from that decision Ronan will still be wondering what the _fuck_ pushed him to it. Part of him just wanted Gansey out of his way since it was the most effective solution at the time and a part of him loves self-sabotage. “Yes.”

 

Gansey’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. It’s actually not as annoying as Ronan thought it to be. His smile isn’t that bad, either. “Thank you so much, really. I’m forever in your debt, literally and metaphorically.”

 

“I don’t want your money,” Ronan replies, and it’s true. He really doesn’t want it, knowing very well what he’d do with it anyway.

 

Luckily, they part ways after that, and they don’t see each other for the remainder of the day. Ronan’s more than fine with it, additionally thankful for the weekend that begins as his last lecture of the day ends at two in the afternoon. His evening shift isn’t that bad, either, maybe because Adam isn’t there and they don’t have to make awkward small talk. Ronan still wishes he could just call Adam, apologise to him and forget everything, especially Gansey’s face. Just _what_ has he gotten himself into?

 

Saturday and Sunday are a mix of work and alcohol (as is any other weekend), but somehow Ronan manages to write a paper in-between not sleeping and trying to sleep. He shows up at church as he does every week and tries not to show just how much he’s struggling to complete basic tasks. That part’s easy enough; he’s just been going through the motions for a long time now. He stands in the same pew as his brothers, the same one their parents used to stand in, and that thought is enough to make him nauseous. That, or the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything except for a single cup of instant ramen since Saturday.

 

Declan doesn’t even try to smile at him, he knows Ronan too well. _Thinks_ he does, at least. He corners Ronan after mass when he almost slips away unnoticed, and Ronan feels a slight _deja vu._ “Think you can make it to dinner?”, Declan asks as if they both didn’t know the answer already. He even looks at Ronan like he’s got some sort of expectations towards him, like Ronan hasn’t spat at the extended hand over and over.

 

Maybe it’s the sermon or the fact that Ronan already agreed to one thing he didn’t want to do this week, but he finds himself saying, “Next week.”

 

The surprised look on Declan’s face and Matthew’s smile are almost enough to convince him he’s doing the right thing.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting, an awkward evening at work, bad memories and a helpful Declan and Henry. It doesn't work out perfect, but it's something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i know it's been a long time. i have the whole outline ready it's just about me getting down to writing this monster. love you if you're still sticking around. No beta we die like men

It seems Gansey had meant what he said, because even though he and Ronan literally share a single class, he makes it a point to say  _ hi _ at least daily for the next few days. It’s so unexpected that Ronan almost finds himself saying it back. Almost. Usually he just turns his head and pretends not to see Gansey, which would’ve been quite rude except Ronan doesn’t care. Gansey isn’t paying him enough for saying  _ hi _ back. In fact, he isn’t paying him at all. Even if he did, Ronan would probably ignore him just the same. There  _ is _ some pride left in him after all. Another thing is his outcast reputation; Ronan wouldn’t crush his not-giving-a-shit façade like this. 

 

And yet when Gansey _literally corners him_ _again_ after class a full week since first time, despite a strong _deja vu_ yet again, Ronan doesn’t find it as annoying as he thought he would. Of course, the thought remains in Ronan’s head, never to be voiced. That boy’s ego looks big enough to bust out of the perfectly buttoned polo shirt. How predictable of such a rich person to have such terrible style. Ronan doesn’t even know why he’s thinking about Gansey’s fashion sense. Looking back, did ever pay attention to what Adam wore? Tough question, but only at first; Ronan cared about it, just not what it looked like but how easy it was to take off. Fair enough, he supposes. As much as he can recall, all Adam seemed to own were old, oversized sweaters, smelling faintly of cheap fabric softener. He always kept them tidy and neatly folded, even when Ronan was giving visible signals that it was in fact _him_ who was Adam’s current priority, not the goddamn sweater. It’s still hard to grasp that it’s gone now, no more Friday nights with cheap wine and sloppy kisses down his neck, the feeling of Adam’s breath on his cheek and the sight of pale, freckled arms around him first thing in the morning. It was cold the night Adam left, and part of the cold hasn’t left Ronan since.

 

Gansey’s voice snaps Ronan out of his thoughts immediately. “I’ve been thinking-”

 

“What an achievement,” Ronan interrupts in a sudden bout of humour which surprises both of them equally. He should’ve seen Gansey coming and swerved out of his line of sight, he’s really not in the mood for that. Not in the mood for people in general. Or maybe Ronan’s lonely as shit and missing Adam so much it hurts. At Gansey’s surprised face Ronan decides not to press the matter. “Go on.”

 

Absentmindedly, Gansey picks at his cuticle, all the cogs inside his head visibly turning over what he’s about to say. It’d better be colossal, Ronan thinks. “Wouldn’t you like to meet me tonight? We could go out for dinner or something. Get to know each other better.”

 

What a smooth talker. Ronan blinks once, twice. “I’ve got work. Is Thursday okay?” 

 

Gansey furrows his brow at this. “I volunteer on Thursdays, so maybe Friday?”

 

“Deal.” It’s more of a way to get Gansey out of his way for the rest of the day than anything else, but as long as it works, Ronan can sleep at night. Actually, he can’t sleep at night, but that’s for entirely different reasons. 

 

“Do you want me to pick you up or- first things first, what would you like to eat?”, Gansey goes on like it’s a normal thing for twenty-two year olds to make plans and not want to die because of them. It probably is a normal thing, Ronan wouldn’t know a thing about being normal. 

 

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever you want, just tell me the time and place. You’ll find me anyway-”

 

Gansey’s facial expression suggests Ronan’s given him the perfect opportunity. “Actually, no. I’ll give you my phone number. You don’t seem like a Facebook type of guy.”

 

Ronan can’t help but smile. “My phone’s dead, so you’ll have to believe that I’m not making you call a sex hotline or some shit like that.”

 

Not much stands out for the rest of the day, other than a text from Declan about the dinner Ronan already forgot he agreed to. It’s still only Wednesday, he can find a way out of this. Ronan knows he shouldn’t, knows how much it’d mean to Declan if he actually showed up; something about that makes him want to skip it even more. Work keeps him busy well enough not to think about everything except how much he wants to go home. It would’ve been perfect if not for the non stop proximity to Adam. Not a long time ago it was all Ronan cared about, the sight of red hair in the corner of his vision, that voice he knew so intimately. It’s over now, he knows, but Adam’s presence makes it so much worse. This is precisely why you shouldn’t fuck your coworker. Yet another bad choice on Ronan’s end, nothing new. If it weren’t for the money and distraction it provided, he would quit, but maybe he’s just not allowing himself to. At least he’s doing something, not just spiralling in a permanent state of drunkenness. That’s for special occasions.

 

Ronan and Adam fully commit to not even meeting one another’s eyes and it works spectacularly until they almost run into each other at the bathroom. There’s an awkward silence between them that would usually be filled with-  _ something.  _ Not this, not Adam staring at him like he’s torn between keeping a safe distance and getting as close into Ronan’s personal space as possible. They agreed it’d be better like this, or rather Adam meant that when he said he’d had enough and left Ronan’s apartment in the middle of the night. 

 

On the rare instance that Ronan gets more than a few hours’ sleep, his mind insists on replaying that night over and over until it’s hardwired behind his eyelids. There had been nothing outstanding about it in particular, up until Adam woke up and started leaving.

 

“ _ What’s wrong? _ ”, Ronan asked and he still doesn’t know the correct answer, nothing new but thousands of answers his conscience has been hell-bent on providing him with.

 

Adam looked at him with a haunted look, like that one time Ronan had made the mistake of mentioning the topic of family. Or when he gripped Adam’s arm too hard and they could both  _ feel  _ it bruising. There’d been too many fuck-ups to mention, but they always clenched their teeth and went on, because if one of them began to drown, the other would probably follow like a dumb dog. “ _ I can’t do this anymore, Ronan. I’m sorry. _ ”

 

“ _ What are you talking about? It’s dark out. We can talk in the morning-” _

 

“ _You wouldn’t sleep anyway._ _Look, I can’t do this, okay? I’m too- empty. Does this even mean anything to you? Other than the sex and occasional free booze._ ”

 

Ronan’s answer didn’t matter, he knew that as soon as he saw Adam’s face in the faint moonlight. He looked so tired and so done with Ronan, suddenly repulsed by whatever they had. The past was- still is and probably forever will be - like a chain around their necks, painfully obvious and marked by the silence that follows the dead ends of conversations. Maybe they really were too fucked up to make it work, try as Ronan might to convince himself otherwise.

 

Going back to the memory, Ronan wonders if he should’ve gotten up from the bed right there and then, fallen to his knees and begged Adam to stay, promised to be better, to try more. It wasn’t a matter of pride but rather cruel irony. Every time he tried to hold on something, it slipped out of his grasp in such an unexpected way that he’d never seen it go, and here Adam was now, looking like he might throw up just at the sight of Ronan and the bedsheets they’d just been lying in. Maybe Ronan wanted to  _ see  _ someone let go of him, watch whatever was left of the feeling they once shared fade in those captivating blue eyes. 

 

“ _ Don’t call me. Don’t talk to me. I’m sorry, Ronan, but please, don’t. _ ”

 

Only the sound of the door crashing behind Adam was enough to bring Ronan out of bed, straight to the bathroom. Was it alcohol or pure self-hatred that kept him dry-heaving until he thought he’d pass out?

 

Adam looks at Ronan in that ugly workplace bathroom lightning as if he knew every thought in his head, or as if he’d never even begun to grasp them. Neither option seems particularly appealing at the moment, or ever. Ronan washes his hands for such a short time that it feels like a world record and gets back to cataloguing a delivery of pre-packaged sandwiches until it’s time for him to go home. Not a single word passes between him and Adam. Maybe it’s for the better. Of course it’s a lie, but it feels good, especially when he numbs it with shitty gin that he’s had saved up for when he hits rock bottom. Ronan hasn’t expected to hit rock bottom on Wednesday, but he’ll take it.

 

When Gansey passes him by and says  _ hi  _ in the hallway before Ronan’s first class. He seems to have memorized Ronan’s class schedule, which is both impressive and terrifying. “We’re still game for tomorrow, right?” Who the fuck still says  _ game _ ? All Ronan does is nod his head in a slightly affirmative way, which doesn’t seem to be enough for Gansey. “I tried to call you yesterday, but the line cut off immediately.” It’s not hard to imagine the amount of times Declan tried to call him in the past few years with that exact endgame. Nothing unusual, but then again Declan’s family. Even if Ronan would rather make Declan kiss the pavement than talk about the weather or whatever normal siblings do, blood’s thicker than water. Or something like that. Gansey’s not related to him in any way, which makes it even more surprising that he actually puts up with him. Or rather, he deemed Ronan necessary to complete his master plan of- whatever it was. Ronan makes a mental note to ask him about it on Friday.

 

Thanks to Ronan’s Friday classes ending at two in the afternoon, he’s got more than enough time to reconsider his decision. Ultimately, he arrives at the conclusion that he shouldn’t have accepted the offer, but it’s too late to cancel it. In other words, Gansey’s coming to pick him up whether Ronan likes it or not. That’s what they agreed on the evening before in an uncomfortable text message exchange. Or maybe it was uncomfortable because Declan kept calling Ronan to remind him about the dinner after church on Sunday. Another plan he shouldn’t have made. Ronan can only  _ imagine _ the kind of bullshit he’ll bring himself into next week. Shooting a meaningful glance at the remains of last night’s beer, he considers tackling the whole thing pleasantly tipsy but eventually decides otherwise. Ronan doesn’t know how it’ll go, so he’s got no actual reason to drink. Good, he’s controlling himself like a normal person.

 

Between Gansey’s ominous  _ ’coming’  _ text and his actual arrival, Ronan finds himself torn between one ugly shirt and another and avoids the problem by staring at the wall until he has no choice but to choose the one closer to him. The tactic has been working in Ronan’s favour ever since- 

 

Ronan doesn’t want to be thinking about Niall’s funeral right now. It might be too cold for a leather jacket, but he’s been cold for a long time, plus his winter jacket is probably buried somewhere in the closet. Gansey sends yet another text,  _ ‘here’ _ this time, as if expecting Ronan to dash to his car immediately. Just to prove a point, Ronan makes him wait for a few minutes, once again proving he’s nothing but a delight to be around. 

 

The noble prince’s carriage or whatever else Ronan half-expected Gansey to arrive in turns out to be an old, orange-reddish Camaro. His outfit of choice, just as disappointing, consists of cargo pants and an obnoxiously expensive yet ugly polo shirt. He’s wearing glasses, though, which is a difference from the usual contact lenses. Or he’s got night-blindness and only needs glasses at night. Probably not. His hair looks even more tousled than at school and there’s less of a stuck-up air around him. The Camaro’s dim lights do nothing to hide the little wrinkles already forming on his pale face, but they do give him a vulnerable edge. Gansey looks pretty, Ronan impulsively decides. Pretty fucking stupid, his mind supplies. 

 

Perhaps in an attempt to once again establish himself as the local dumbass, Gansey proceeds to fumble with the stick shift like he’s never driven a car before. Ronan masks his smile with a cough and decides to stare at the barely-lit road in front of them, so as not to stress the baby out even more. “Where are you taking me?”

 

“Oh, you know, just this pizza place,” Gansey replies in a dismissing manner. A single red light flashes in Ronan’s head. There are few pizza places in the city and Adam works in at least one, which leaves Ronan estimating the likelihood of Gansey having chosen that particular one  _ and  _ Adam having a shift there at the same time. Thanks to his utter inability to count a damn thing, the calculations end up not making sense at all. Why does Ronan care so much? He’s literally on his way to a  _ non-date  _ with a guy he’s supposed to be pretending to date and he can’t stop thinking of Adam. Gansey once again stops him mid-thought (it’s beginning to grow on Ronan despite everything) by parallel parking the car on the first attempt. Ronan almost voices how impressed he is.

 

They don’t argue about the pizza choice- actually, they don’t really argue about anything. The evening passes slowly, but in a good way, like warmth creeping up on your cheeks when you eat. Ronan learns a little about Gansey’s major(s): an overambitious mix of political science and archaeology. “I  _ swear  _ it wasn’t because of Indiana Jones,” Gansey laughs, but Ronan doesn’t fully believe him. They don’t talk about the future or any other boring shit. Instead, by the time they’re done with their food, there’s a comfortable silence. It seems to suit them both and Ronan doesn’t mind. Gansey insists on driving Ronan back to his apartment and they spend the drive picking out a song that they both like. It’s literally just twenty minutes of fumbling with the CD player with every song in the universe cut off at a random moment, which is surprisingly fun. Ronan makes his way up the stairs without looking back, but his phone rings within a couple of minutes of him making his way through the beer he’d decided to leave for this precise moment like an adult who can manage himself. Ready to tell Declan to fuck off, Ronan’s surprised to hear Gansey’s voice when he presses  _ accept call.  _

 

“It was a fun evening, wasn’t it?,” his pretend-boyfriend asks and Ronan knows by now he’s not really expecting him to reply immediately or at all. Still he graces Gansey with a noncommittal hum. “I had fun. Maybe we could do it again sometime in the future, I mean with the Christmas dinner and all.” Ronan sits on the couch and pretends to look at his textbook. “Maybe.” It’s not downright refusal, and if you could feel a smile from a couple miles away, Ronan probably would feel Gansey’s. “Don’t you have, uh. Any schoolwork to do tonight?”

 

“Oh, you know, a paper or two,” Gansey says. “Nothing crazy.” The conversation is not awkward yet, but Ronan isn’t taking any chances. “Have a nice weekend, Gansey. You’re not that bad.” In terms of instant relief, ending the call feels like three shots for Ronan. 

 

Saturday passes in a flurry of work and catching up on assignments, because Ronan knows he isn’t going to do anything functional once he’s back from church on Sunday. Or rather, back from Declan and Matthew’s place after church. The dinner is every bit as terrible as he’d predicted, with Matthew’s cheerful small talk and Declan’s concern basically radiating off of him. They discuss the weather and the sermon and act like perfect strangers. Ronan’s tipsy by the second course, which of course Matthew and Declan made from scratch. They’ve been going through Mom’s recipes recently. Ronan tries not to flinch at the mention of her and it doesn’t fool anyone. When he’s back at his apartment and nursing a bottle of whisky (he deserves the good stuff after putting up with his brothers), Ronan lets his phone die and almost cuts up the charger. Thanks to a misplaced pair of scissors, the plan doesn’t go through. 

 

There was a couple minutes when he helped Matthew clean up after the first course when they almost acted normal. Matthew told a story that Declan must’ve heard three times by now, something about a teacher and a stolen answer sheet, and Ronan snickers at it and almost runs his hand through his brother’s hair. He must’ve seen it too, because he almost leaned into it like he used to when they all lived together and everything was easier.  _ What’s dividing us,  _ Ronan asks himself. The answer stings like the first burn of alcohol going down your throat.  _ Oh, right. It’s me. _ Luckily, by the time he reaches this conclusion everything is a bearable blur and Ronan doesn’t have to fall asleep with his younger brother’s pleading eyes plaguing him.

  
  


On Monday, Ronan finds himself stuck in a conversation with Henry Cheng against his own will on after one of the few classes he actually likes. In fact, he’s still holding his textbook, the only textbook he actually makes use of. The only one he bought, but that might have had a lot to do with a sale and not the actual course requirement.

 

“So you’re the guy Gansey roped into this whole scheme, right?”, Henry asks like Ronan has somehow agreed to talk when he wasn’t paying attention. Ronan braces himself for a few minutes of awkward conversation and goes through every single escape route before giving Henry an elaborate nod  _ in lieu _ of a real answer. “We don’t share classes, do we? But you and Dick Three both take Latin.” Ronan’s half-hearted  _ yeah _ suffices for an answer. “I heard he took you out a couple days ago, like the knight in shining armour that he is. How’d it go?”

 

Trying to make peace with the realisation that Henry won’t stop bugging him until he gets a proper answer, Ronan sighs. “We get along. He wants a lot of things and can’t seem to take a break.”

 

“Gansey? Taking a break? That boy wouldn’t know  _ relax _ if it slapped him on the ass,” Henry says. There’s a fondness in his words, something Ronan would’ve said about Declan a few years before things got messy and ugly. His posture and the way he holds himself suggest a social class similar to Gansey’s, but the Madonna t-shirt he’s got peeking out from his blazer and two ear piercings imply Henry knows a thing or two about fun. He exudes playfulness, all wide smiles and deliberate glances, but Ronan isn’t in the mood. He seems like he genuinely cares about Gansey, though, and that’s good. That’s the reason he kind of ambushed Ronan after class. What is it with rich boys and cornering him? Is that a thing? “I just wanted to see you for myself. You’ve got quite the reputation and I wouldn’t let Gansey fake-date just  _ anyone _ , you know?” Ronan settles for nodding along. “He acts like he knows and owns everything, but he’s not that bad. Actually, he’s a really good guy. Please, don’t fuck him up.”

 

The whole situation takes Ronan by surprise, as has the whole idea that Gansey suggested to him. Ronan isn’t sure what he’s getting into anymore, but at least it’s fun. It stops him from thinking about everything else, if only to muster up some sort of reply to Henry or text Gansey something ridiculous. There’s still a lot of time left until Christmas, but maybe it’ll be fun. Maybe it’ll pull Ronan out of the miserable circle he’s been stuck in since the accident. For now he settles for making his way back to the apartment and drowning any and every thought in whatever he finds in his cabinets.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading

**Author's Note:**

> huge shout out to ao3 user [DecayingPapers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecayingPapers/pseuds/DecayingPapers) for being the Icon that she is and supporting me on this Journey.


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